


The Spy Who Hosed Me

by ranereins (shadowintime)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Adorable, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:25:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowintime/pseuds/ranereins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q offers to let Bond stay in his guest room until he finds a new place to live. Bond picks up a few of the chores, including tending the garden... in his own special way, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spy Who Hosed Me

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this photo](http://shadowintime.tumblr.com/post/45614626328/tastefullyoffensive-via). The idea got stuck in my head and I just had to write it. :D Beta'd by sgflutegirl Title is from the photo, at it's original source.

It’d been months since Bond had come back, very much alive and mostly well, but he still hadn’t found a new place to live. He’d gone back to his old flat in hopes that perhaps he could make some sort of deal with the new tenants that it had been sold to, but they were surprisingly stubborn and apparently immune to even his charms. He wasn’t getting that flat back.

Bond hadn’t really had time to look for a place either; he was away on missions more than not. Q had offered to let him stay in his guest room until he found a place. That was almost six months ago. Q offered to help Bond find a new flat, but he’d refused, saying that he was very specific in his requirements and refused to specify said requirements.

Q really didn’t mind Bond living with him. He was fairly tidy, would occasionally fix things without being asked, and took on a few of the chores and some of the upkeep. Q was grateful for that; there never seemed to be enough time for everything with the hours MI6 kept him on and Google was only so helpful with repairs and maintenance.

There was one thing Q wished that Bond wouldn’t help with though, and that was the gardening. Q wasn’t sure when Bond had begun tending to his small but respectable garden, only that one sunny Saturday afternoon he was sitting on the couch reading when something flew past the window. He frowned, marked his page in the book, sat it to the side, and went to the window to look out. Bond was down on one knee in the grass, watering the rosebush Q’s mother had given him when he’d moved in.

Q made a mental note to put Bond’s jeans on to soak later so that the grass stains wouldn’t set in the knees. And to call his mother and thank her again for the book she’d bought him containing the solution to virtually all household problems; the laundry soak section had been particularly useful since Bond had moved in… Bond had really tested the limits of the book’s solutions. The book had been another housewarming gift. His mother worried terribly about him.

He dismissed Bond’s strange position for watering; he didn’t know how long the Agent had been out there and for all he knew, Bond was simply tired of standing. It still struck him as odd though, and occasionally popped back to mind.

He’d all but forgotten about Bond’s strange watering habits after 3 weeks without his housemate while Bond was on a mission. That was, until Bond came home with a stitched-up cut above his eye and a bag of mulch slung over each shoulder. Bond deposited the bags of mulch in the backyard with no more than a tired look and “I’m home Q” before going to his room to change and wash up for dinner. They ate dinner without so much as a word about the mulch and then Bond turned in early.

When Q woke the next morning, it was to his window being pelted with something. He crawled out of bed, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and moved to the window. He pulled back the curtains just in time for multiple bits of something yet to be identified to hit the window again and he stumbled backwards out of protective instinct. It happened again and Q was about to tentatively creep back over to the window when a heavy stream of water began to splash off of the glass. He would never admit it, but he jumped in fright.

The water ceased after a moment and shortly thereafter he heard the bits of unidentified matter pelting his bathroom window. He moved to the window, looked around the garden and found Bond standing over a bag of mulch wearing Q’s gardening gloves, looking quite serious and menacing if Q did say so himself, and watched as he threw the mulch at the window. 

Q frowned as he watched the man continue throwing the mulch and tried to figure out what Bond could possibly be doing. Coming up with nothing viable, he opened the window, leaned out it and asked, “Bond, what _are_ you doing?”

Bond paused and looked at him, quite serious, and responded, “Mulching. I noticed the flowers seemed to dry out quickly.”

That made sense, but not the way that Bond was going about it. “And why are you throwing it at my windows?”

A small smirk played at Bond’s lips. “It’s easier to disperse this way.”

Q narrowed his eyes at the Agent. “It can’t possibly be. You can’t control placement or the diameter that it should be around the plants, nor thickness of the layer.”

Bond stared at him for a moment, quite obviously trying to come up with a realistic answer, before cocking his head to the side. “It’s a flower bed Q, the whole bed has to be mulched.”

“Alright, but I really don’t see how throwing mulch at the windows is the best way to accomplish this.”

Bond gave him a stoic look that Q had learned meant that he wasn’t going to get an answer and he should stop trying to get one.

Q waved a hand at him dismissively. “Fine, carry on.”

Q closed the window, dressed and made his way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. For a while, the rhythm of mulch pelting the windows followed by water to wash off the debris that clung to the glass continued. It stopped after a while, though Q wasn’t sure when. He plated the food and placed it, two tea cups and a pot of tea on a tray and took it out to the garden. Q almost dropped the tray when he spotted his housemate.

Bond did a tuck-n-roll and squirted a tree with the water hose, from there he stood, turned and clipped a small limb from another.

Q watched as Bond continued darting around the garden, fighting the shrubbery and trees while protecting the flowers, and realized exactly what Bond had been doing. He smiled. “I’m no double-oh Agent, but it’s always seemed to me that the shrub over there in the far corner is quite villainous. Perhaps you should focus your attentions on it.”

Bond quickly turned around, falling to one knee, slightly startled, and squeezed the sprayer’s trigger on instinct, squirting Q with water. As soon as he realized what he’d done, he stood and moved the sprayer behind his back.

“While I admire your reflexes 007, I really don’t think I deserved that,” Q said as he sat their breakfast down on the garden table and used one of the napkins to try and dry himself off as best he could.

Bond dropped the hose and walked towards him. “I’m sorry. But you really shouldn’t sneak up on a man with a license to kill.”

“I wasn’t sneaking, I was bringing out breakfast. And even if I were, this is my home, I would have every right to sneak about if I desired to do so.” Mostly satisfied, Q dropped the napkin back on the tray and sat down. “Beside, armed only with a watering hose, I think the absolute worse you could do is waterboard me. And being housemates, I’d like to think we’re on better terms than that.”

Bond smiled as he sat opposite of Q and took the wet napkin from the tray, draping it over his lap. It was only fair that he took it. “I’d like to think so too.”

They ate in silence for a while, Bond occasionally glancing up at Q, waiting for him to say something about his actions. He said nothing, however, only buttered another piece of toast methodically and poured himself some more tea.

“I suppose it goes without saying that no one will ever know about this,” Bond said. It wasn’t a request, but a threat. It was also a prod, something to break the silence.

Q looked up at him, his expression neutral, and took a sip of tea. “On two conditions. One, you fertilized the flowers accordingly, in addition to the watering and mulching.”

A small smile curled at the corners of Bond’s lips. “I think I can manage that. And the other?”

“My mother is coming for tea tomorrow afternoon. I would thank you kindly to not mention your profession and especially not mine. She worries.”

“What exactly have you led her to believe you do?”

“She believes I’m a data analyst who works in a nice, safe little office and she will continue to do so,” Q said, giving him a pointed, almost threatening look.

“It’s not as though your job is particularly dangerous.”

“No, but after the bombing at MI6, I wouldn’t be able to convince her of that. And as I said, she worries.”

“Very well,” Bond replied with a soft smile. “And if she asks about my job?”

Q gave him a look that clearly said the answer should be obvious. “Make something up, you’re quite good at that. Something… not dangerous.”

“I suppose I could tell her I’m a gardener,” Bond said with a chuckle.

Q leaned back and looked around the garden. “That would work, it’s easily believable. Though you risk her trying to employ your services.”

“I think I can handle your mother.”

Such a seemingly innocent statement, but it somehow made Q uncomfortable. “You should also hide any and all weapons you keep here. Hide them well.”

Bond nodded as he spread jam on his third piece of toast.

“And for God sakes, don’t slip up and call me Q. You’ll have to call me by name or nothing at all while she’s here.”

Bond pointed the jam covered bread knife at Q, but by no means in a threatening way. “That, I make no promises on. I don’t even know your real name.”

Q gave him a knowing look. “Well you should, as often as you look through my mail.”

“You know about that?” Bond asked, surprised, though he didn’t show it.

“Of course I do. I keep hoping you’ll pay a bill or two while you’re at it.”

Bond grinned, but said nothing in response.

“Do we have a deal?” Q asked.

“Deal.”

Q gave the garden a good look over once more. Perhaps he didn’t mind Bond tending the garden so much after all.


End file.
